Late Bloomers
by vivicance
Summary: Andromeda Tonks loses almost everything after the war, making her feel as though she is, in the end, meant to be alone. Fate will prove her wrong by throwing in the most unlikely person. Andromeda/Kingsley, post-DH, pre-epilogue.
1. PR: Every man is meant to be alone

Andromeda Tonks was knitting socks and gloves for young Teddy, fast asleep in his crib, while nervously waiting for her daughter. The left sock of the current pair she was working on had just been haphazardly thrown on the table, and the right sock was being mended. Due to her anxiety, she had ruined the design — that of a howling wolf that didn't look much like a wolf at all, though no one said that knitting was her forte — and had to redo it all over again.

She had not slept since her daughter had left the house to participate in the war. She could not drift into an easy slumber while she had no knowledge of what was going on. It wasn't as though she hadn't tried, but even Dreamless Sleeping Draughts could not decrease a mother's anxiety for her daughter's safety. In the end, she merely decided to keep herself occupied while she waited for the news.

It was almost midnight, and the dark clouds that had crept upon the skies was clearing up, though only just. Still, there was no word from the participants of the war.

It made her worry. It made her wish that she had kept the little magical radio she and Ted used to own, in case news was heard in the air, but she had given it to Nymphadora at a time when she needed it more.

_What if…?_

Quite viciously, the speed of her knitting increased. No, she wouldn't think of such horrible things — she promised herself that, promised Nymphadora that her first and foremost priority would be the safety of her grandson. Ted was right, he was always right — her daughter was an Auror, one the best there ever was, just as strong as they believed her to be, and intelligent, resourceful.

Beautiful, wonderful Nymphadora — she would be alright. She _had_ to be.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

She dropped the sock she was holding — almost finished, almost. Her face scrunched up in mild horror as the visitors knocked again. With one hand ready to pick up her wand in her pocket, she stood up quickly and quietly and laid ears on the door, trying to figure out who was outside. No one but members of the Order could enter the sanctity of their home at the moment, but she wanted to make sure.

"Who's there?" she asked softly, and her voice luckily did not shake.

"It's me," said a clear, soothing voice in the silence of the dawn, tired but unyielding, and her heart skipped, her eyes widened, and she opened the door so quickly, too quickly, to see the face of Kingsley Shacklebolt, his eyes weary and solemn as he inclined his head to her.

Her heart dropped, and her muscles slackened as she stood there like a frail weed.

_No_.

"No," she whispered, brokenly, softly.

"The war is over, Andromeda," said Kingsley, and there was much sympathy in the way he spoke, and she didn't know whether to be angry — at her daughter, who insisted on fighting despite the danger, at her son-in-law for allowing it, at everyone else, at Kingsley for being here - or break down at the sight of such a usually calm man standing before her with grief etched on his face. His lips trembled but a little, his hesitation palpable in the thin, cold air, but he continued on. "I'm afraid there have been many casualties…"

They had won, yes, Andromeda surmised as much.

But.

"They're dead, aren't they?" she said quietly, stricken, and her knuckles were white and her eyes looking at anything but Kingsley's face. "Nymphadora and Remus? They're both dead?"

"…Yes," answered Kingsley grimly, softly. "I'm sorry."

She gasped, a delicate hand covering her mouth as she uttered a soft cry, her tears on the brim of her eyes. She closed them, willing a tear to slide down her cheek as she let her grief pass through her like a waterfall — strong, overpowering, overwhelming. First Ted, who had been killed mercilessly by Snatchers; and now, her daughter, Nymphadora, the only child she had, the one she had lived for alongside the man she loved, the one she fought for against her family, the one she left her son for, was dead.

_Gone_.

She couldn't believe it. She had felt it in her heart - a mother's instinct, if you would - but she kept the dreadful thoughts at bay, keeping an optimistic mind in as much as she could muster… And now those same thoughts were pushing through, flashing before her eyes — scenes of Nymphadora's death, curses flying in every direction, her soft eyes losing the life they had always had…

_Ted's eyes…_

_No_, she thought bitterly. _No…_

She feels a firm hand on her shoulder, and an arm snaking around her back as Kingsley's warmth enveloped her, and didn't need to open her eyes and look at him to know that there was compassion and understanding in his eyes, and she breathed out shakily, a scratchy sob escaping her throat as she leaned into that embrace and rests her head on his shoulders.

It was Ted who always comforted her when she was at her lowest, who would always whisper sweet words, comforting words, who would wrap his arms around her and kiss her temple and tell her it was going to be alright, they were going to get through this, that it would all be over soon. He had told her once that grief was but another part of a person's life, and as painful as it was, as heavy the burden was, they had to overcome it, and the mark it would leave behind would become their symbol of bravery, of strength, of love.

But it was Kingsley now, because Ted wasn't here. Ted was dead, and she did not know if she could accept that. She did not know if she was strong enough.

She suddenly remembered that Kingsley was here to deliver her news, not stand there to comfort a grieving woman, and it must be so uncomfortable for him to be there, watching her struggle with herself, so selfish of her. She leaned away, pushing herself off him lightly, her hands trembling, restraining the tears that wanted so very much to fall. She looked up and tried to smile at him, though she knew it would come out faint and phony and shaking. At the moment, she suspected that he already knew that, because he was looking at her as though she was going to break.

"Thank you," she said.

He lowered his hands, and nodded.

She hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to shove him away and tell him to leave her alone, but that was hardly polite, and years and years of highborn upbringing could never be undone. "Forgive me, I shouldn't - shouldn't leave you out there, standing out in the cold." She breathed in , a huge gulp of air, a way to cope. "Would you like to come in for a moment…?"

She motioned for him to come inside their — _her_ — home, and if her voice wasn't shaking, she might have thought that she had outdone herself this time. Kingsley looked mildly troubled, as if this was not a part of the plan, and perhaps he had expected a woman like her to break down and cry in front of him, not give him a hospitable treatment frosted with the struggle to be strong. Nevertheless, his face cleared and he nodded, stepping inside in deliberately slow steps, looking around her small cottage as though he had not been there himself before. He had, of course, done numerous visits to the place due to his friendship with both Ted (they went to school in the same year) and Nymphadora - but this was different. This time he was here for _her_.

She did not want to know whether that was a good thing or not.

She led him to the small dining room, and gestured for him to sit on one of the chairs and begin levitating a pan and some utensils to begin her work. He looked as though he was about to say something, but she cut him off quickly. "I've yet to have supper, and I'm sure neither have you, what with all the excitement happening outside," she said, fleetingly. "A breakfast plate would be more appropriate at this hour, however, wouldn't you say so?"

Silence, and then: "I agree," he replied softly, perhaps knowing that even if he turned down her offer, she would cook him a meal regardless, perhaps surprised at how much control she had with her magical and physical capabilities, when it was obvious to the both of them just how much she was shaking, and Andromeda could not even hide that fact from so sharp a man as Kingsley.

"How would you like your eggs done?"

"Scrambled," he muttered. "If you please."

"Worry not."

"I do worry," he said clearly, shortly, though not in anger or irritation. It was a statement of a fact.

She did not acknowledge it and continued on with her task, and neither spoke another word until there were crispy bacons, eggs, hash browns, and toast on both their plates. He gave her a swift 'thank you' as he accepted a fork from her and began eating his way through the silence that Andromeda's obvious despair had imposed.

After the first half-hour, however, Kingsley paused in his meal, startling her a little, and he turned to her thoughtfully. "You can asking me anything, Andromeda, and I will answer them to the best of my abilities."

She searched Kingsley's kind eyes, and knew that any question she asked would receive clear, if not good, answers. Kingsley always had a knack for reassuring others, whether it was by his voice, his strength, his talent, or his mere presence in the room. Andromeda had noticed it the first time she had ever met him, back at Hogwarts, and she was noticing it again this time.

The first question, of course, was the one nagging in her mind the most.

"Who - who killed her?" she asked, almost pleading.

Kingsley did not answer for a long moment, giving her a piercing glance behind that dark eyes that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, prickling her, before uttering, "It was Bellatrix." The look on Andromeda's face must have alarmed him, for he raised his free hand and quickly added, "She is dead as well, Andromeda, you do not need to worry."

Andromeda stilled.

Bellatrix.

Her sister, Bellatrix.

"Bella," she breathed, looking up at Kingsley, who, once again, had a sympathetic look on his face, only this time, it was mingling with guilt, realizing quickly that he probably had said those words a little too casually. He merely meant well, she was certain, yet had forgotten that it was not just the victim who was related to her. She could not explain it now, and perhaps she would not be able to do so at all in the future, but the death of Bellatrix struck her in a way that she did not expect. Kingsley seemed to understand, by the look he was giving her.

It was true that they had begun truly hating each other after Andromeda made it perfectly clear that she intended to marry Ted, and leave the family behind. Nevertheless, before Andromeda Tonks, there was Andromeda Black, and she had not always been the black sheep of the family that she was labelled as now. She could still remember, in her distant childhood, the genuinely smiling face of the young, brash, and strong Bellatrix Black. It had been years since they had played together as children, talked to each other, taken care of one another.

They had been closed, with Bellatrix only one year older than her - almost inseparable in their younger days as they played every childish game they could in what was once their home. They had been Bella and Andy, and with Cissy, they were the three Black daughters that held the world at their fingertips — all beautiful, all clever, all strong, all pure of blood. But Bellatrix begun associating herself with those fully delved themselves in the Dark Arts, and later joining their cause. Narcissa had fallen in love with the dashing, and then heir to the Malfoy legacy, and Andromeda concentrated on her studies, and on a Muggle-born wizard who had taken a sudden, if not odd, interest in her.

To hear that she, as well, had died in the war… it tore another piece from Andromeda's heart — a piece she thought she had already left behind.

"Who killed Bellatrix?" she whispered, a hand placed gingerly on his face. Her tone was brittle, and for some reason, she was still shaking. A husband, a daughter, a son-in-law, and now, a sister.

_When will it end?_

"Molly," said Kingsley pensively, watching her with what she thought to be worry, or rather, distraught. "Bellatrix almost killed her youngest; the curse bypassed her by mere inches. Molly duelled against her and hit her on the chest." He looked as though he was about to say more, but he shook his head. "She fell and died, and her body is being taken to the Malfoys, for her sister to bury."

Andromeda pursed her lips, and harsh words spewed from her lips before she could stop herself. "Why do you give her such luxury? With all that she had done, she does not deserve a proper burial. She deserves to rot, and her body to be mangled by dogs." Tears prickled the corners of her eyes once more, but she stopped herself, looking down and away from Kingsley's prying eyes. "She killed so many, broken so many hearts and so many people. I can never forgive her."

"Can't you?"

"I would have killed her myself!" she snapped.

"Would you?"

Andromeda glanced at him, her eyes flashing with an unreadable emotion, and her teeth grinding together in an effort not to say anything hurtful any longer as she refrain to dignify his question with answer. She did not even know the real answer herself.

Would she?

Bellatrix had killed her daughter — that alone was enough on an incentive for her, revenge for a loved one lost. With a start, she remembered the Bellatrix had also killed Sirius, her favourite cousin, and the man who gave her smiles when no one else could understand the pain she had gone through, what with leaving the family behind, leaving her name behind, and settling for another. In the heat of the battle, if she were there, she knew that she would remember that, and she would have been so furious, so sorrowful, so determined to get what she wanted.

An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

But would she, really?

Kingsley took her silence as a response to his enquiry, and returned to his food, and Andromeda wondered if his assessment was agreement, or disapproval, or neither, or he simply did not care for what she might have said and merely wanted her to think. Either way, Kingsley would not judge her, she knew, almost as certainly as she knew that Ted loved her with her fibre of his being.

Eventually, they began talking of other things, relevant things and lighter topics, and a comfortable stalemate when it came to her family and his involvement in the war, and Andromeda found herself comforted, if only slightly, by his presence, and the way he spoke to her.

"Thank you for - breakfast," he said, yet again, as she escorted him to the front door. They sun was rising, a faint glow of light peeking from behind the dark clouds that were slowly fading away, giving way to a new day, with new light. It was symbolic, in many ways, but Andromeda could not find it in her heart to sing it praises.

"It was nothing," she replied. "Thank you, for coming here. I know that you are busy… and incredibly so…"

"Andromeda," Kingsley began, with slight exasperation in his tone, but he paused as he looked at her solemnly, as if thinking what he wanted to truly say to her. "I know that this is a hard phase in your life, and it will take a while before you…"

He glance at her piercingly, and she she looked down until she had looked away.

He put his hands inside his pockets. "Well, what I'm trying to say is that if you ever need help, I'm always here —"

"Thank you, Kingsley," she said, and for the first time, her smile, though incredibly small, was real. 'Touched' was too simple a words to describe the warmth in her voice. She looked at him fully in the face, for the first time. She examined the lines of his face, the traces of worry in the dark edges of his eyes, the solemn downturn of his lips. For the first time, she saw Kingsley in a very low point in his life — he had just lost many friends, and despite the victory, he did not look any last defeated.

He looked very much like how she felt.

She probably was not the only person that he had to visit. This was war - there would be many, many casualties, sacrifices to the greater cause. It was a hard burden, to tell all these families that their loved ones had died in battle, and he still chose to do it.

She wondered why.

"I would not want to bother you," she began, "but —"

"You're no bother," said Kingsley, his eyes sincere. "We are friends, aren't we?"

In truth, Andromeda had never considered him a friend of hers. He was Ted's friend, a long-standing companion since their early days at Hogwarts, that not even Ted's Gryffindor scarf that clashed with Kingsley Ravenclaw tie could separate; Sirius' friend, even, that he, too, have known since their Hogwarts days, and was one of the first to believe Dumbledore's defence with regards to his innocence; and quite possibly Nymphadora's friend as well, for they have worked together on a number of missions, both within the ministry and not; but not her friend, specifically. They were merely connected by association, acquaintances through other relations. She had never given him birthday or Christmas presents that were not in a bundle with her family, never sent him friendly letters asking him how he was, never made plans to hang out with him, never talked to him outside the comfort zone of her family's bubble.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Friends."

Kingsley gave her a fleeting smile, nodding before he Apparated a few steps away from her door. She stared at the spot for a few more moments, realizing that, for the first time in a very long while, she was once more alone.

She didn't know why, but her mother's voice suddenly floated in her mind, and a memory once forgetten resurfaced from the depths of oblivion.

•

_"Crying, child?" her mother snapped crisply. "Not again. Wipe your face and hide your tears, Andromeda. People will assume that you are a weakling, and no Black child will be called as such, especially not in our own home."_

_An eight-year-old Andromeda quickly wiped her tears away with the white handkerchief offered to her. Under the stern gaze of her mother's beady eyes, her tears had simply stopped flowing. They were situated near the back of the room, almost invisible to the sea of black that gathered in the hall. They watched as visitors entered their house and expressed their condolences, saying how dreadful it was for Mister Pollux Black to have died, and hoped that he passed on with a smile on his face, and other mundane things offered so emotionally, one would think that they were sincere about it all. Andromeda knew they were not, because Pollux Black, while a wonderful grandfather to his grandchildren, was a stern man, ruthless and cunning, and used every mean he possessed to gain a satisfactory end. Indeed, he had died with a smile on his face, tried in the very last years of his life to bring more glory to the House of Black, at the expense of other people's comforts._

_She knew all these because she listened to her parents talk, watched with a child's eye how everyone revered and feared him in a way she would ever not, because he had nothing but smiles to share for her. He was an odd man, her grandfather, but he was wonderful, and she loved him. She would miss him._

_But even crying out of love was a fault to her mother, and weaknesses, she knew, were something not tolerated in their society. Pureblood superiority must be upheld, in every sense of the word._

_"Yes, that's it," she said tersely, pulling the handkerchief away from Andromeda's fingers and Vanishing it with a flick of her wand. "Why were you crying, child? Because you grandfather is dead?"_

_Andromeda nodded mutely, and she saw her mother purse her lips._

_"Foolish girl," she said, with a trace of dislike in her tone of voice. "Every man and woman will die when the time comes - not even magic of the highest and strongest form will save them from the grasp of death. It is the only thing that we wizards have not over, and will probably never do so, as disheartening as that sounds. It is an inevitable fate. In the end, every man will be left with nothing but himself, meant to be alone."_

_Andromeda looked up at her mother, her young face showing her confusion — and fear._

_"Are you frightened, Andromeda, at the prospect of being alone?" she guessed correctly, though Andromeda did not answer for fear of what her mother would do if she did. Druella Black eyed her daughter prudently, the wrinkles on her face now more prominent, disapproving of her daughter in a way that it had never had before. "Listen to me, Andromeda —"_

_She grabbed her daughter's small wrist, sinking her nails in her skin, and Andromeda wanted to cry again. She blinked the tears away as her mother continued to speak._

_"This world is not kind," she said quietly, but there is a growl in the undercurrents of her voice, a predator's sound. "Everyone is fated to die someday — some will die before you, others will die right beside you. In the end, even the person that you treasure the most, whoever that person may be, will disappear from this word, nothing more than a fleeting memory. There is nothing more depressing, more regretful, but you must accept your fate when the time comes. When it does, little one, you will be the only person left to take care of yourself."_

•

She was right, her mother.

She was alone.

Andromeda closed the door delicately, and rested her head on it after she had heard it click shut. A second later, and the tears were falling, and she was crying, whining, sobbing - for what, she didn't know any longer. Her grief overpowered her and she slumped to the floor, clutching the door handle as tightly as she could, holding on for dear life.

It was all just too much.

•

**Published: October 13, 2009**

Note: It's my first venture into the Harry Potter fandom, as a writer, and it's also for a pairing no one else has written for. It was an accidental shipping - a friend and I argued over the type of women the men of the Harry Potter has fallen for, and while Remus is the kind to fall for a younger, spunkier woman, she said that Kingsley probably had already fallen for a married woman (or, as in the case of this story, a widow), and that was why he's still single despite his age.

Anyway, I want to know who is interested in this Kingsley/Andromeda pairing — I mean, it's already almost nonexistent as it is, but I want to know if it's interesting enough to be continued, and if there are any suggestions as to how we can get them both together in the end! I'm always open to suggestions.

•

**Edited: October 10, 2012**

Note: Spelling and grammatical errors have been corrected, and some parts of the chapter have been either expanded or contracted, depending on how important they are. Certain history between certain people have been slightly rewritten, defining relationships a bit better than it had been before. Things that don't make sense or clashes horribly with another idea have been changed as well. All in all, nothing too drastic.


	2. 01: We were left to live

**Late Bloomers**

_Chapter 1_

_We were left to live_

•

Andromeda looked at her grandson, a small smile on her lips. She fixed Teddy's hair with her hand, sighing as she did so. It had changed to a dark golden-like color, which was—thank Merlin—more appropriate for the occasion and less blinding than the neon pink colors he had been sporting before. It was as if Teddy knew what was happening and where they were going, and was wearing the color in honor of the occasion.

"We're going to go to a very special event, Teddy," she murmured softly. She buttoned up the last button of the small baby's mini-dress robe before gently picking him up from his crib.

Teddy gurgled in her arms, stretching out his stubby fingers. He was an adorable child, much like his mother, but rather quiet like his father. He rarely sobbed, preferring to cry silently until Andromeda spotted him in a lonely corner. He rarely threw any tantrums, and accepted anything and everything that Andromeda gave him with eyes that shone like the stars. He would laugh that bell-like laugh of his and everything would seem perfectly all right in Andromeda's world, that she had not just lost the most important people in her life and that everything she ever hoped for this child would come true. In short, he was the perfect grandson, her wonderful distraction, a beautiful remembrance.

She turned to look at the clock hanging from the opposite wall: it was half past nine—almost time. Quietly, she walked out of the house, towards a small tin can mysteriously abandoned in the middle of the front porch. It was a Portkey specially authorized by Kingsley, who understood that while Teddy was still a baby, Apparition was not an option and travelling by Floo would be detrimental to his health. Seconds after she had touched the can with a firm grip, the world spiraled around her. She closed her eyes and held unto Teddy tightly until she felt that she was nearing their destination. She let go of the tin can and landed gracefully on her feet on solid ground, with the baby still in her arms as though nothing had occurred. She sighed in relief.

She looked around, and smiled fondly when her eyes landed on the front gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She could see the old castle in the backdrop, the sun hovering over it and casting an ethereal light on the building. Around her, many visitors to the school had also gathered around to look at it with such pride and joy, given its symbolic attribute to the downfall of Voldemort. For Andromeda, it was the first time she had seen Hogwarts again after she had graduated, and it brought back some memories.

Tearing her gaze away from the scenery, she looked around for familiar faces. She saw that many families and friends kept to themselves in small groups as they treaded along the pathway towards the castle, guided along by many Ministry officials who had volunteered to oversee security during such an occasion. A few who recognized Andromeda, old friends and colleagues, stopped by and chatted with her, offered condolences and such, and cooed over Teddy who was laughing his cute laugh—but none stayed, and Andromeda wasn't really so inclined to walk with any of them unless she felt confidently safe in their presence.

"Mrs. Tonks!"

Andromeda turned around, and smiled as a boy—_No_, she thought firmly, _he is a man now_—with messy jet-black hair and bright green eyes approached her swiftly, earning stunned gazes and girlish squeals from everyone else who had noticed his presence. Some dared to talk to him, but Harry Potter turned them all down gently in favor of speaking to Andromeda Tonks. She suspected that her arrival to the grounds had not gone unnoticed, and that Harry had volunteered to fetch her and his godson.

She didn't mind. It was better that way.

"Harry Potter," she said, nodding to him as he reached her.

There was an air of maturity about him that Andromeda couldn't have reached even if she lived to be a hundred and twenty. It was a significant representation of all the things that he was forced to go through, and for a moment, she pitied him—he had to grow up far earlier than those of his own age to fulfill a duty he never asked for. But then again, she thought to herself the perhaps it was a good thing, considering what he had done for everyone he treasured. Her eyes naturally drifted over his lightning-bolt scar, a mark of someone who had been exposed to the darkest of Dark Magic. The survivor of the Killing curse, and now the defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—she wondered, briefly, if Harry ever got tired of it all.

She didn't question why he was there, but instead, said: "How are you? And please, call me Andromeda."

"Andromeda," he acquiesced with a genuine smile. "I'm…" he paused, thinking through the question she just asked him. "I'm fine, actually. Loads of things have happened. I… really thought that I would feel overwhelmed by everything after but, I'm just…" He trailed off, and Andromeda nodded in understanding. His eyes darted from her face to his godson's and his eyes practically lit up at the sight of him. "How is Teddy?"

Andromeda thought at that instant that her daughter could not have picked a better godfather.

"He's just beautiful," she murmured lovingly, her brown eyes on Teddy. "Do you want to hold him?"

He looked at her, uncertain.

She smiled encouragingly. "You will have to learn how to hold a child, darling, because someday you will have your own," she told him. She surveyed his reaction, and just as she thought, his eyes began to lose their focus, and she knew that he was now imagining himself as a father, with his own child in his arms. Ted had that same look once. "What better way than to begin learning from you godson?"

Harry smiled serenely. "If it's all right with you."

"I would not have offered if it wasn't."

Slowly, she untangled her arms from Teddy and handed him over to a cautious Harry, who seemed so frightened at the prospect of holding a child—it was a sign that he already loved him, and Andromeda was pleased. Teddy made a small noise of delight, outstretching his arms to Harry, and the young man chuckled quietly as he cuddled the boy. They were forming a bond more unbreakable than an Unbreakable Vow, just by looking into each other's eyes.

They both knew that they were being watched by hundreds of people who wanted to see what the Boy-Who-Defeated-You-Know-Who was currently doing, and with a swift nod from Harry, they slowly walked towards the castle, where all the guests lined up, waiting for the ceremony to begin. At first, Harry tried to begin small talk.

"Mrs. Weasley was very worried that you wouldn't want to come today," said Harry delicately, looking sideways at her. She did not look at him, but she fiddled with the simple golden band rest in her right ring finger—one that she refused to take off even after the death of her husband. "You've been cooped up in your home for weeks, after the funeral, but Kingsley said there was nothing to worry about."

It was Kingsley who persuaded the ever-worrying Molly Weasley to let Andromeda have her peace for the few weeks. The death of her family had taken a toll on her (it would have been a miracle if it didn't), and Molly had seen her despair during Nymphadora and Ted's funeral at Godric's Hollow (it had been decided unanimously that Remus would be buried with his friend, James Potter, and his wife with be buried next to him. They buried Ted with his daughter as well).

To put it lightly, she was a mess. She could not even stand up straight without help—she had collapsed in exhaustion and depression a few times during the ceremony and after, and it was Kingsley who finally volunteered to take her home. Afterwards, she locked herself inside the house with her grandson, refusing to answer mail and avoiding the fireplace at all cost. Kingsley and Hestia Jones, a close companion, stopped by once or twice a week to check up on her, yet she generally refused to accept any other visitor.

"Kingsley was right," she said quietly.

"So, you're all right now?"

She looked at him, almost floored by the simplicity of his inquiry. What answer could be sufficient to such a loaded question? "I…" she hesitated. Her voice was horribly pained and throaty from her unconcealed heartache. "I wish things were different."

It was a grave understatement, but it was more than a substantial answer that did not fully give away what she truly felt. Harry looked at her, softness in his eyes.

"We all do," he said sadly.

Their conversation had reached its end, and silently, they walked. Harry was the kind who understood the need for quietness.

Once they neared the entrance of Hogwarts' Great Hall, a deadly silence enveloped the area. Many people had turned to look at Harry, some with amazement and others with tear-stained eyes. There were a number of people who rudely pointed at him, mostly youngsters who didn't know any better, while the middle-aged women began rounding up their gossips. Beside her, Andromeda could feel Harry shuffle uncomfortably. It seemed as though this boy, despite his notorious fame that cultivated when he was but a toddler, still did not like being ogled at so openly by people who were not used to his presence.

"Andromeda!"

Molly Weasley approached her, her arms outstretched and inviting. From where she was, Andromeda could see that she was not the only one having a hard time. Her face was drawn tight, and there were dark shadows under her eyes—lack of sleep, exhaustion, sorrow. Andromeda recognized the look as the same one she saw everyday in front of her mirror. She took the woman's embrace, and it was like being in the arms of a mother-like figure. It was a stupid thought, since they were nearly of the same age, but Andromeda sometimes could not help but think that Molly was more of an experienced and mature woman than she would ever be.

"Oh, I'm so glad that you could come," said Molly, smiling forcefully. "I was so afraid that you wouldn't—I wouldn't have been surprised. But, dear, it's not very good to keep to yourself at such horrible times, is it? I've wanted to visit you these past few days, but many things just seem to pile up one after another, and…"

"Thank you for the concern, Molly," she replied. "I was just…"

She didn't even let her finish; Molly understood perfectly, and waved her hand to prove a point. "Of course, this war brought about a harsh stormy cloud over our heads." Her eyes glinted, tracing the sadness she felt. "But then, it does make one reflect about our lives—if we have done our absolute best in assuring that the ones we love have left this world happy."

Andromeda had always marveled Molly's astuteness. This was not the first time that the woman had made her think about her actions, about the consequences, and she had always appreciated her insight on many things. She was right, too. Nymphadora and Ted, as far as Andromeda knew, were perfectly content with their lives. It could have been better—Ted could have been as far away as possible from any prejudice and Nymphadora could have thought of her son's predicament before worrying over her husband's—but everything came out the way they did, and there was nothing she could do about it now.

"Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Tonks," interrupted Harry hesitantly, giving them a shy smile. "Sorry, but they're going to need me over there." He nudged his head to the direction of the podium, where the usual seats of the school's professors were taken by the Acting officials of the Ministry. "Kingsley didn't want to start the ceremony by himself, so he asked me to speak after him."

"Oh, Andromeda, your grandson is adorable," cooed Molly, taking Teddy from Harry's arms after an affirmative nod from Andromeda. Harry left them to greet the Ministry's officials, and the two women began walking through the crowd, towards the front seats in the hall – the Weasley family arrived very early and managed to grab good seats. "He looks just like Tonks, doesn't he?"

"Yes," she replied, her eyes crinkling with an unreadable expression. "Though he seems to be more like his father. He's very quiet, not much of a trouble at all. Nymphadora was a catastrophe in a bundle."

Molly half-chuckled. "I had seven, and they were all such a restless bunch, I wanted to pull my hairs out every time." They neared the seats where her children had crowded themselves in, one less than seven, and added, in a much softer tone, "Not much has changed between now and then."

"Andromeda, you're here, thank goodness," said Arthur genially. They hugged lightly, and Arthur's attention moved to Teddy. "Molly was growing restless. Ah, here's the young Teddy. He must have grown already—such a wonderful-looking child."

"Dad, Mum, the ceremony's about to begin," said a redheaded girl, who Andromeda deduced to be Molly's youngest, Ginny. She turned to Andromeda and smiled kindly. "Mrs. Tonks, we saved you a seat."

"Thank you," she replied. "Ginny, is it?"

"Yes…"

"Oh, here's Teddy, Andromeda," Molly interrupted, handing Teddy over to his grandmother carefully. "Come—let's go to our seats so Kingsley can start. He's been fussing about this for weeks, I tell you. Arthur said that he hadn't seen him so flustered since…"

Molly's voice was cut off by the sight of Kingsley standing up from his seat. As he did so, the whole crowd hushed, and there was nothing more than Kingsley's boots echoing around the room as he, step by step, made his way to the podium usually reserved for the Headmasters of Hogwarts.

"I thank you all for coming here today," said Kingsley, with that deep voice that always seemed to soothe everyone. "May 2, 1998 was a day of great joy, because of the victory we achieved in the defeat of a Dark Lord, but it was also a day of heavy losses. Many people, from young adults to elders, have sacrificed their lives for their beliefs, to free all of us from the evil and hatred spread by a ruthless, heartless man. They fought gallantly, hoping that their efforts will someday make a difference in this world, and today, we commemorate their heroic deeds, because only through their resolution are we now able to live in peace. We keep them in our minds and in our hearts because everything they did was for us to live…"

•

The ceremony ended with firecrackers exploding and spreading out into the dark, night sky, courtesy of George Weasley. A victory to be celebrated, a new beginning spurned from a dark era. The visitors of the school gathered around Hogwarts' grounds to rejoice and relax, after months of agony under the daunting power of a frightening man. Andromeda watched as the colorful sparks danced with the stars, watched as Teddy, in the company of his Uncle Harry, watched and giggled at the sight of pretty lights. A rainbow after the rain, indeed.

"You and I aren't really the kind of people for this sort of thing."

Andromeda turned to Hestia Jones, who had joined her in her corner by a shady tree, and said, "I think, given the circumstances, we can at least appreciate the beauty of it all." She turned back to her grandson, who was now clapping excitedly when George fired another set of firecrackers. "Fireworks can be wonderful in their own way."

"I suppose," mused Hestia out loud. "The old gang wants to plan some kind of reunion dinner-thing for next week. As if we have nothing better to do – as if _Kingsley_ doesn't have a lot of trouble waiting for him in his office." She shook her head in exasperated amusement. "Well, that aside, they're asking if you want to come."

Andromeda was silent for a while, pondering. The 'old gang' that Hestia referred to was not her gang, per se. They were Ted's friends, ones he kept from his Hogwarts years up until the time of his death. Since the day Ted had acknowledged Andromeda as the only woman he ever loved, she had been accepted in their circle, which she did not expect at all. She had expected to be shunned, as her family had done, with only Ted by her side, and Sirius, her favorite cousin, in tow.

In truth, she carefully secluded herself, because she did not feel as though she was meant to be a part of their group. She was not used to kindness – even to Ted's love and care she had been a little sensitive. It came from growing up in a strict environment devoid of love, with sisters obsessed with the men of their dreams and her parents wanting nothing more than to marry them away and be left alone. However, even knowing that, they still extended to her their hands for friendship, especially Hestia and Kingsley, who were now her closest companions aside from Molly, since Ted's death. But still… it did not feel right that she was there and he was not.

_Nothing feels right without Ted, Andromeda_, she told herself, resigned.

"Andromeda," said Hestia gently, noticing her abrupt silence. "If you don't want to… If you're not yet ready, we…"

"No," she said softly. "I want to, but…"

_I can't even tell you how much all of this bothers me_.

"You're our friend, Andromeda," declared Hestia suddenly. Andromeda blinked and looked back to her. Did understand? "You always have been ever since Ted introduced you to us. We've known for a long time that you were different from the rest of the family, like Sirius Black, and we decided to give you the chance. You were scared, and you weren't used to it, but we understood. We've always been here, even when you never said that you needed us." She smiled her Andromeda, who was too stunned to speak. "Never think for a second that we did not think of you as a friend. Even if… Ted isn't here any longer, _we _are."

A quick silence loomed over them, and they seemed not to have heard the noise surrounding them, even when George Weasley had started another round of firecrackers, even when everyone in their vicinity yelled and laughed and cheered in the top of their lungs.

Nevertheless, it was broken by Andromeda's gentle smile. "Where are we going to hold it?"

"Kingsley's house," she replied cheerfully, not missing Andromeda's '_we_' hint, and, in fact, absolutely delighted that she was able to convince her. "They wanted to do it in my home initially, since it's enormous, but there's no bloody way that I would let those blokes run wild in my own house. I told them that either they choose another location, or they flee from my sight. Long story short, Kingsley offered his home instead."

Andromeda's eyes involuntarily sought out Kingsley's figure in the crowd. She half-expected him to be exulting with other people, but he was not. He was with a crowd of Ministry officials, huddled together by the lake and visibly talking business. Ofcourse, she thought wryly, he's the current Minister of Magic. He was not meant to sit on his hands just yet.

Kingsley's face was stern and authoritative, and those surrounding him were either reveling in his presence or looking at him in awe. It wasn't the first time that Andromeda had seen him in this state. Even back when they were in Hogwarts, Kingsley was known to have a commanding presence wherever he went. He was a pureblood, which meant that he had had proper breeding, and he was kind and caring to everyone, no matter who they were. He was no prejudicial snob, earning himself a high grade in Ted's book immediately, and he was a highly intelligent man. And through all of those things, he was a chivalrous person, a Gryffindor at heart.

Even Andromeda knew that Kingsley was too good a person.

"I've never been to his home," she said out loud.

"Not a lot of people have," replied Hestia. "Kingsley rents a flat in Muggle London because it's near the Ministry's telephone booth entrance, and he rarely goes to his parents' old home. Haven't got the foggiest idea why, though. I think Proudfoot asked him once, but Kingsley never really gave him a reason. He just said that he didn't like it there…"

"I don't like mine, either," muttered Andromeda, remembering gray walls and the cold air, a sullen atmosphere and unfriendly faces.

Hestia didn't seem to hear her, as she continued babbling as though Andromeda had not said a single thing. "…although he did volunteer that house when the Guard went to fetch Harry from his home at the Dursley's. His father was a former Auror and placed a lot of protecting spells around the place, so it must be why… Oh, speak of the devil."

Somehow, Kingsley had untangled himself from his subordinates, because he was now on his way to where Andromeda and Hestia were under the shady tree. Upon catching their eyes, Kingsley waved at them. Hestia waved back and Andromeda forced a smile back at him.

"A break from work, King?" asked Hestia as Kingsley approached them.

"You could say that," said Kingsley, a little wound up. "They won't leave me alone. They seem to think that the wizarding world is going to collapse the minute I stepped out of the work zone. Fortunately, I got young Percy Weasley to distract them, even for a few minutes. An old man like me needs to stop and stretch my limbs once in a while, too."

"Careful with the old man's speech," said Hestia, chuckling. "Next thing you know, you'll have gray hair on your scalp, wrinkles on your face, and a cane in your hands."

"That was a wonderful speech you made earlier," said Andromeda delicately when he made to stand beside her. "It was very inspiring."

"I do hope so," said Kingsley wistfully. "Merlin knows that inspiration is what this world needs right now. We might be rid of an evil being, but we still have a long way before we can truly get over what happened. We've lost too much." He gave Andromeda a sideways glance, perhaps in worry of her reaction to his words, but she continued to be as silent as ever, avoiding anyone's eyes, so he continued on. "There is also the issue of the people trusting the Ministry again. The last few years have been nothing but pandemonium—Fudge was the wrong leader at the wrong time, and Scrimgeour was no better."

"It will take more than just a speech to be able to lift everyone's worry over the Ministry's past incompetence," murmured Hestia, snorting. "What with all the rumors against it, I think it's safe to say that the only reason you are not being judged is because you're a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's left-hand, even."

Andromeda lifted her eyes to look at Kingsley—he was watching her, as if waiting for her opinion. "I think you would do well as Minister," she said firmly.

"I agree," said Hestia instantly.

Kingsley laughed darkly. "You're two of few to say that."

"It's the truth," Hestia urged. "We have faith in you."

Kingsley gave them both a wry smile. "Because we're friends?"

Andromeda was strongly reminded of Hestia's earlier proclamation.

"Because I've seen what you can do, even back then," she replied patiently, and Kingsley looked at her curiously. "You're incredibly attentive to your surroundings, and you care about everyone. You even care about the people who did nothing to deserve your kindness. You're fair, and you do whatever job you get if it means helping the entire Wizarding world. Everyone else will see that, eventually." She paused, and then added, "And because we're friends."

Silence enveloped them. Andromeda and Hestia, having nothing further to say, encouraged it, and Kingsley merely satisfied himself by looking outward to the lake. His eyes drifted in and out of focus, a sure sign that he was thinking about things, so she let him be.

She wished her life was just as serene. She knew it was merely temporary, that she would have to return to the old cottage filled with memories, tuck Teddy in his crib, lock herself up in her room, and helplessly weep away her anguish. It was easily a daily occurrence; without the glamour charms that she had learned when she was younger, she would have looked incredibly hideous, with the bags under her dull eyes and the pallid color on her face.

It was not until after a few minutes did any of them speak.

"Did you tell her about the dinner night?" Kingsley asked Hestia.

Hestia laughed. "Of course I did. She said she's going."

Kingsley eyed both women with incredulous amusement. "You didn't blackmail her into going, did you? Andromeda, don't let yourself be forced into doing all kinds of things by this woman. You never know where you'd end up in." Andromeda knew that it was Kingsley's way of saying that she needn't force herself to go if she truly did not want to.

Hestia clicked her tongue in disapproval. "I resent that, you daft bastard." Kingsley laughed. "Andromeda, please tell this numbskull that I did not, in anyway, coerce you into going without your own consent."

"I agreed on my own," she said, once more a small, genuine smile escaping her lips. "And… I think I ought to go, anyway. It's been a while since I've left the house."

She noticed Hestia and Kingsley giving each other furtive looks, but none them said a word. She knew what they thought: three weeks was not exactly just 'a while'.

"Everyone will be happy to see you again," said Kingsley sincerely. "It's been a long time since any of us had gathered together…" He paused, and Hestia exhaled a breath in recognition. Andromeda, too, looked at him with comprehension in her eyes. He snorted and shook his head—he didn't want to remember such things now. "Well, you can bring Teddy if you want. I'm sure everyone will be glad to see him there as well."

"I was planning on giving him to Molly, or even Harry, for the time being," she said thoughtfully. "I think they would enjoy his company. Teddy has his way with people. Everyone just instantly loves him."

"He's like the little symbol of everything we fought for," said Hestia softly. "And he'll grow up in a safe environment, of course, because that way he can live a better life than we ever did. We'll make sure of that."

"I think," Kingsley began, "we were left to live so that we could give him, and every other child, that kind of life, so that we can teach them to learn from our mistakes and create a better place of their own in this world. You're right, he'll live a better life than we ever did."

Andromeda looked at her grandson, who was still giggling in the hands of his Uncle Harry, surrounded by the friendly Weasleys and all their friends, with the fireworks above their heads and the green, green grass on their feet, with the laughs and smiles all around them in this single, momentary haven, and thought that those two could not have been more right.

**0o0o0**

**Author's Note: **Well… there's not much to say just yet, since it's only the first chapter. Thanks to those who have reviewed the prologue. I don't have the time to reply to your kind words personally, but thank you for responding. It means a lot to me. I think I like this chapter very much, giving us a look on how Andromeda is coping. To want to celebrate and mourn at the same time sometimes is hard, and I completely understand that feeling. Anyway, feedback anyone? I'd like to know what you guys think of this chapter. Thank you very much!


	3. 02: Family doesn't abandon each other

**Late Bloomers**

_Chapter 2_

_Family doesn't abandon each other_

•

"So how did Molly react?"

"As I expected," said Andromeda grimly. "She didn't even care. She was so happy that I was 'finally leaving the house and doing something _remotely_ normal', she said."

Kingsley gave her a lopsided smile, and Hestia laughed right beside her.

Andromeda had found, quite easily, that the best distractions were always the once she would, at first, take for granted. Hestia had been persistent and loud and almost aggravating with her incessant babbling, while Kingsley had been caring and quiet though profoundly in tune with her mood swings, but they had both been very patient with her, and it was enough for her to know that they would not force her into prying her heart open and spilling her deepest troubles to them if she didn't want to, which made her more comfortable in admitting her thoughts and feelings to them. Of course, those confessions never came easily, for Andromeda naturally came to herself, but they knew very well that healing would take time, especially in her circumstances. Andromeda would need a lot of time before she could walk and talk as she had normally done before.

It wasn't for the lack of trying, of course. Andromeda did have her moments where she felt as though she could conquer almost everything – her feelings, her circumstances, the world, and everything and everyone else – and smile the way she used to, but there are times when those thoughts had been completely useless. She was reminded of her own losses and failures, and it was back to square one all over again, as the Muggles would say.

Still, it was a start.

The small get-together at Kingsley's home was turning out to be rather promising, Andromeda thought as she stepped out of the Apparition point in front of Kingsley's house and entered through the main foyer. She knew from her general knowledge of old Pureblood families (drilled into her mind by none other than her parents) that the Shacklebolts were ancient and powerful, just as ancient as the Malfoys and the Blacks, if not more. They were also quite 'the Muggle-loving Gryffindors, like the Potters', as her father had told her so bluntly, so they were not exactly as popular to _their_ end of the spectrum of the wizarding society. However, she had suspected then that they probably held the general favor of the rest who did not believe in Pureblood supremacy as much as her family did.

Because of that, it did not surprise her that Kingsley's house was a manor and that his home was called _Shacklebolt Estate_. She did not so much as bat an eye as she looked around, only gazing with mild appreciation at the bright, golden walls and marble tiles, the sound of her heels clicking on the solid floor echoing through the large empty space that led to the rest of the house. The large chandelier that hung over their heads glittered brightly, and Andromeda was slightly thrilled (she was a woman, after all, and what's a girl's most well-known best friend?) to discover the diamonds and hung like chains around golden arms.

Clearly, whoever made this house had a wonderful architect and an even more talented interior decorator. Even the House of the Blacks, Grimmauld Place, which was once hailed to be the most beautiful of all pureblood establishments by her parents' friends and acquaintances, could not compare to this (and considering its current state of abandon, she knew that it would never be revived to its former glory).

"I knew you were rich, but I didn't know that you could give Harry Potter a run for his money, King," said Hestia, wolf-whistling as she spun around and looked at the decorated walls and whatnot. She was examining a piece of old tapestry that hung on the wall. "You could be even richer, selling these."

Kingsley, for his part, had the grace to just smile at the compliment. "You're making a big deal out of it."

"I'm not," Hestia shrugged. "But the knowledge would have made you much cooler."

"I'm not cool enough, then?"

She grinned. "Never."

The banter fell into a familiar, easy rhythm as the three of them walked toward the dining room that it almost seemed to be a habit than anything else. Nevertheless, Andromeda was perceptive and knew better: that Kingsley and Hestia merely enjoyed the brother-sister relationship they had and reveled in it in the most typical way they knew how. It was the Gryffindor in them, really.

She forced herself not to remember the times when she and her daughter would argue at the most senseless things, and forget about it later on.

"Hey, Andromeda's here!"

Andromeda was thrown out of her reverie when she heard her name being called, and she smiled softly when one Sturgis Podmore came and gave her a swift hug (he had always been too loud, but he meant well). He offered to carry the food for her while Varana Patil ran to her and squeezed her insides out (she had always been too affectionate, but Andromeda knew it was her way of reassuring herself of the reality around her) and Adrian Pope snapped pictures of them incessantly (as if he didn't have enough, but he had always been the sentimental one on the inside). There was a whole chorus of "Andromeda!", "You're here!", and "We missed you!" amongst other things, and Andromeda, not for the first time today, found that she could smile again.

Perhaps—just perhaps—it wasn't such a bad idea to come.

"Aren't you happy I asked you to join us?"

She turned to Hestia, meeting the other's knowing gaze, but Andromeda held her gaze with an indifferent shrug that was too Slytherin to be actually honest. Hestia snorted and bumped their shoulders together before immersing herself in the infectious hugging love fest happening before their eyes. Andromeda turned to Adrian, the only person standing beside her instead of joining in.

"Give me a copy of those, will you?"

"Sure," he said curtly, but there was that curve of the lips on his face that made her certain that he didn't mind. "I don't have anything else to do with them, anyway. You have a better chance of finding something."

"They'll be pictures in a photo album," she said, sighing out her silent laughter. "What other use will I have for them?"

This time, he really smiled. "Who knows?"

•

"I hope you're having fun, Andromeda."

She blinked as Kingsley sat next to her on the couch, two glasses of the finest Elf-made wine in his hands. He offered one to her, and she took it with a smile and a nod. She had been watching Hestia's intense wizard's chess game with Malcolm Bones, all the while listening to the running commentary of Joseph Davies and his wife, Christie, which was nothing short of amusing.

"As should you," she quipped back.

He smiled. "There's no reason why I shouldn't be, is there?"

Kingsley had _been_ having fun, she mused, but he wasn't even trying to avoid the subject of work, especially when Gawain Robards and Melina Edgecombe had pulled him away for a bit to discuss certain progress in their Ministry dealings and whatnot, but after Varana had yelled at them and threatened them very convincingly to stop talking about work ("Or I'll feed you to the hippogriffs," she said snottily, not caring that she was threatening the Head of the Auror Department _and_ the Minister of Magic at the same time. "My brother owns seven of them, and he'd gladly take free, fresh meat for them any day."), they had decided to leave business where business belonged.

At least until the party was over.

That was fine, Varana had said, as long as they weren't within her earshot.

"You have a beautiful house," she said, deciding to change the subject, however trivial the new one is.

"Thank you, though credit doesn't belong to me," he replied humbly, a mark of a good host. "My ancestors each had their own say in the modeling of the manor, until my great-grandmother Regina said that enough was enough. She was very humble, that woman. She disliked being seen only because of her name."

"Most people do," she said thoughtfully.

He looked at her, a knowing glint in his eyes. He didn't pursue the subject, though, for which she was thankful. "She did love the house, though, since she loathed admitting to anyone. She became grumpy every time she admired a painting and had to remind herself that it was so 'lavish' and 'unnecessary' and 'utter rubbish on the whole'."

"How fickle."

"She was just that, and it had nothing to do with how 'lavish' the entire manor looked," he said with a small laugh, speaking more and more as the turn of the conversation became enjoyable. "She might as well have lived in an old, rickety house and she still would have said that it was 'too big' and 'too ancient, it might as well have an antique portrait hanging on the foyer to complete the image', or something to that effect."

She glanced at him, mildly amused. "You should have brought her to Grimmauld Place, Kingsley, after sixteen or so years of abandonment. I reckon she would have loved it there."

"She wouldn't be able to live there," he argued lightly. "Even I think that it's an abomination. I don't know how Sirius survived living there for half his life."

"Watch your tongue, especially when around my late aunt's portrait," she quipped, remembering what her daughter had said about it being an ominous presence in the house, seeing as it had been cast with a Permanent Sticking Charm. She laughed at her daughter and said that that was just like her Aunt Walburga.

"Someday, Harry will find a way to get rid of it," said Kingsley, though he wondered idly if he would even live to see it happen. "By then, I hope we wouldn't have another reason to use it again. Other than enjoying each other's company."

"That would be pleasant," she mused. "Has he tried taking off that part of the wall, instead of just the portrait?"

Kingsley's brows furrowed in thought. "No… no. I don't think so."

"I don't know Aunt Walburga enough to know if she would charm the wall itself so that it couldn't be taken off, either," she said, "though it's worth giving it a try. That's what she did to Uncle Alphard's portrait when she found out that he gave all of his inheritance to Sir—"

"_AHA_!"

Malcolm said his last command to his queen, before yelling "Checkmate!" to a rather sour-looking Hestia. The whole crowd cheered—a standing ovation!—and Malcolm bowed before his audience a couple of times before Hestia subsequently pounded him in the head.

"She's quite the sore loser, isn't she?" said Gawain, as he approached Kingsley and Andromeda with a laugh on his face. "Then again, she's been our reigning champion since the last time we had our little gathering."

"And that's been, what, twelve years ago?" said Kingsley cheekily, before a frown went on his face. "My, we're old already, aren't we?"

"Don't we know it?" snorted Gawain. "At least Andromeda here doesn't look the part, eh?"

He winked at Andromeda's direction, and Kingsley promptly elbowed him in the ribs.

•

"Hestia asked me to make sure you weren't harming yourself."

Andromeda sighed inaudibly as she sat down on one of the benches situated in the middle of the garden. It was a beautiful one, with small maze of green hedges and sprout and shrubs that needed to be tended to often because seemed so forlorn in the darkest corners of the area. But there were flowers that bloomed and lived even and under the gaze of the moonlight, they shone brightly like little candles in the dark. Kingsley sat beside her, hands inside his pockets, observing the place with contentment in his eyes.

It now occurred to her that she had been alone in the garden for far too long, and Kingsley had been designated (and she was sure that Kingsley hardly had any objections) to keep an eye on her. She wanted peace and quiet, she had said, so they let her. Apparently, she had overstepped the boundaries of their patience and worry.

It couldn't be helped, she thought. She had always liked looking at the stars, and spent countless of hours looking at them in the middle of the night.

"I hardly have the tools to do anything to myself," she whispered.

He snorted. "You have your wand."

He was the cheeky sort, always having a comeback for every possible excuse. It was also the perfect reason why he was in Gryffindor: he was never afraid to say his thoughts. He was smart, incredibly so, but it was his cheek that earned him friends and admirers. It was the sort of teasing that was blunt, yet harmless, unlike the taunts and jeers that occurred within the Slytherin fold.

"How's work at the Ministry?"

"Exhausting," he said, straight to the point. "When the Ministry fell, the Ministry fell hard and fast. People expect the same the other way around."

"It doesn't quit work that way," she said, eyes furrowing. "Change for the better won't ever come fast enough. You have to work for it. You have to work for everything that you want, or nothing will come to you at all."

"Yes, that's what I've told them many times," he said, massaging his temples briefly. It was obvious just how awful of a time he was having. "Though people like Rita Skeeter seems to like vilifying my less then finer moments on the job. I wasn't surprised when the first column slandering me on the _Prophet _was written by her."

"Rita was in Slytherin, Bellatrix' year. You couldn't have expected otherwise?" She smiled darkly. "You mustn't let them get to you."

"Being the Minister was not my job of choice," he said somberly. "I was trained to be an Auror, to be adept and agile in the battlefield, not to be skillful in reading the faces of politicians who are most likely out to eat me alive. Hestia argues that there's no one else that can do my job, though, so I can't just quit it."

"She's not wrong in that," she said so softly that it was almost as though she didn't say anything at all. She knew he heard her, though. "I suppose my only advice is that you shouldn't work too hard. It won't do if you suddenly disappear from the public sight because you're sick, or something of the like. They need to see you as a strong leader, because you are."

"It wasn't my choice," he repeated, his low, soothing voice still calm despite the quiet confession. She looked at him; he was looking at her. _I wasn't my choice to be where I am_. "But I'll try not to overexert myself. As you said, they need to see a leader, not a human."

It was not quite what Andromeda wanted to hear from him, but who was she to dictate his actions thoroughly? It was enough, to her, that he understood what she had implied. He was a smart man; he wouldn't do things wrongly.

"Which means you don't get to visit me unless you have to," she said instead.

He snorted at that. "You're ridiculous for even thinking that you have a say in the matter."

"Kingsley—"

"Did you forget what I told you?" he said, eyes glazed with firm determination, and something else that she can't quite place. "We're friends. We've always been friends. I could very well just tell you that you and Ted and Tonks were like family to me, and family doesn't abandon each other."

It was a little unfair, she thought, that he could tell her these things and she could believe him, because she had been hurt and discarded by the family she thought were there to be with her forever, her flesh and blood. It pierced her to think that what he said was the truth, as brutal and cold as it was.

But there was that little spark in her, that small, unforgettable fire in her heart and soul that wouldn't die, that couldn't _just_ die.

She detested that she couldn't ever let go of them.

She was a Black through and through, and they loved and cherished and protected each other because family and blood were basically the same. Before she learned how to hold a wand, before she learned how to speak, before she learned how to laugh, before she even opened her eyes, it was her family that was with her. It was her family that thought her to treasure what was most important to her (to them, it was their lineage; to her, it was the man she would eventually love with all her heart), and never forget where she belonged.

No, she never forgot.

•

_"Silly Anny," said a little girl's voice, with a laugh full of vibrancy, an air of electricity about her that shone in the night. "We're family, of course. We will always be Blacks, and Blacks never abandon each other. Blacks never forsake each other. Make sure you don't forget that, okay?"_

_"Okay."_

_"And don't forget me." Hands treaded through her hair, soft and quiet, but there was the warmth of life beneath long fingers that shivered in the cold. "Don't forget Cissy. I'll make sure you don't. I'll make sure you always remember who I am to you."_

•

"Andromeda?"

She blinked, gasping lightly at the sound of her name, and she realized that there were tears in her eyes, threatening to fall. Kingsley had a hand on her face, wiping away the tears that had already made streaks on her fair face. For the first time, she realized that his hands were incredibly hard, calloused by his years in his lines of duty. His veins threatened to pop from the back of his hands, all the way to the tip of his fingers that seemed shorter than they were because of his neatly clipped fingernails.

She followed the lines from his hands to his wrist, to his bare forearm, until the veins disappeared underneath his sleeve. It was then that she brought her eyes to his face, and realized that he was watching her with dark eyes, confused and caring but ultimately grim against his overall stoic countenance.

It was as if he realized that what he said triggered something Andromeda didn't particularly liked to see.

"I apologize," he said softly, lowering his hand. She could tell that he was incredibly sincere at this, because there were only a handful of times that Kingsley ever truly apologized to someone. "What I said, I didn't mean—"

"It's all right," she replied, just as quietly. She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. It wasn't his fault, really. "I can't stay any longer."

His eyes met hers, but said nothing.

"I suppose I'm just exhausted," she offered, not exactly lying. A small smile accompanied her words. "It's been a long day."

"Of course," he said. "I'll walk you out."

"No, I know my way out," she said swiftly, short of being curt, if not directly impolite. "Thank you for inviting me; it's been wonderful. And please tell Hestia the same. I'm sorry that I couldn't say goodbye to her." She breathed in, withdrawing her gaze. "Tell everyone else I said good night. I'll write to each of them as soon as I'm able."

"Of course," he repeated, just as she was picking up her things from the bench and making her way back to the house, and out of his home. There was no bitterness, or sadness, in his voice, and Andromeda felt further guilt at her sudden departure, though she knew—and he knew—that she had to leave, if not for her own sanity then for his own conscience. "Have a good night, Andromeda."

•

Andromeda arrived at the Weasley's with a small 'pop', a sound naturally soft, but seemed loud in an abandoned field that bore nothing but grass and the open air. Molly must have heard or seen her arrive, for she had opened the door a few seconds later and invited Andromeda instead with the trademark, welcoming smile on her face.

"Thank you, Molly," she said with a smile as she entered the cozy atmosphere of the Burrow. "I'm sorry for coming without a warning, and it so late a time—"

"Oh, Andromeda, you should know better than sticking with formalities when it my home," she said dismissively, tinkering on the pots and pans. "You're like a sister to me. You're welcome any time you wish to come here."

It was like a punch to the gut, but Andromeda refrained from saying anything. Instead, she focused her attention on the mug of hot chocolate that suddenly appeared by in front of her.

"Teddy's in Ron and Harry's room, playing with the boys," Molly spoke, initiating conversation. "They _love_ him to pieces, I tell you. He's a very adorable child, much like his mother, but so quiet like his father." Andromeda smiled at that. "I've already called them out when you arrived. I expect that they're just dressing the baby properly now."

"I'm in no hurry, Molly," she said lightly.

"Of course, though you seem to have left the party early," said Molly, looking over her shoulder to observe her. Whatever she finds in her typically pristine state, Andromeda has no intention of finding out. "Is everything all right?"

How subtle.

She had always been unnaturally perceptive when it came to people, Andromeda mused, if not a little nosier than most people, because she just _knew_ that Molly had been meaning to ask that the moment she stepped in the house. Perhaps it came with being a mother of seven.

"Kingsley isn't as completely sensitive as people think he is, though it isn't with a lack of trying." She sighed, glancing at the plump redhead now sitting in front of her with a worried expression on her face. Andromeda found out early that no one could truly lie to Molly Weasley, because she had _much _experience in that department thanks to having cheeky pranksters for children, and so Andromeda had never tried if she could help it. "I suppose it comes with being a man."

"Oh, An—"

"He means well, Molly," she interrupts. "Sometimes, too well. He reminds me of Harry."

"Should I tell him off?"

Andromeda laughed lightly, hands tightening around the mug, never mind that it was still scorching hot. "I don't think he would be so appreciative of that. He didn't do any real harm. It was merely one of those foot-in-mouth moments, I suppose. I overreacted a bit, that's all."

"If it makes you feel angry, or sad, or anything at all, it isn't overreaction," corrected Molly gently. Molly knew nothing of what her reaction might be, but she had enough experiences to know the gist of things. "I suppose it's being 'emotional', but it doesn't mean that it was the wrong response to give."

She shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Did he apologize?"

"Of course, he did. I forgave him. It really isn't his fault."

Molly leaned back, watching her face. Andromeda was now certain that Molly was seeing the tear streaks in the dim light of the kitchen. "Then I suppose he'll have to suffer your silence before you talk to him again."

"And make him realize that he's acting like an idiot, thinking that I haven't forgiven him at all," said Andromeda, smirking a little. "Perhaps Hestia would have talked him out of it already, if he told her. She's his best friend."

Molly hummed thoughtfully at that. "You don't think they're…?"

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "They're…?"

"Well, together?" Molly sounded hopeful at the prospect, considering that she had been matchmaking Kingsley to every available girl in existence ever since the war was over. "They seemed to have gotten awfully closer these past few weeks, don't you think?"

"They've been friends since Hogwarts," she said, her face entirely serious as she tried not to smile. "They treat each other like brother and sister. Besides, Hestia's chasing for the other team."

It was all she could do not to laugh at the bewildered expression on Molly's face.

Luckily, Harry Potter decided to come down the stairs and into the kitchen right at that moment, with little Teddy cradled in Harry's arms. He was fast asleep, something that Andromeda was incredibly thankful for.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, as she gave a peck on his cheek. Molly had returned to whatever she was doing in the kitchens, perhaps pretending not to hear their conversation. "I know you've been busy."

"It's nothing," he replied honestly. "I hope the party went well. I heard that it happened at Kingsley's house."

"Yes, it went along splendidly," she said placidly. "I hope he didn't get you into any trouble?"

"No, he's been an angel so far," he said, smiling. "Though he did seem to enjoy it when he saw Ron's face turn a nasty shade of green. He ate one of George's joke products by mistake."

George was one of the twins, she thought grimly. The one who did not die in the war. It was obvious that such topic was still a taboo in the family, for Molly was unnaturally quiet in the back, and Harry had said one twin's name, instead of speaking of them collectively.

She knew better than to pry.

"My grandson, the future prankster," she muttered under her breath. "Or at least an avid spectator should one appear. How appropriate."

Harry grinned handsomely as he placed Teddy's sleeping form on Andromeda's outstretched hands carefully. "I can't say it's not an inborn trait."

"True," she smiled as well. "Thank you again, Harry. If—?"

"Don't worry about it," he nodded. "I'll be here if you need me. You and Teddy—" He looked at his feet suddenly, and Andromeda wondered at that, at what could Harry be thinking that could make him feel so small and unsure of himself. "—He's the closest to family I've got, really. I just… I want to be with him as often as I can."

_Oh_.

"Harry," she said, her hand shaking as she reached for him, though her voice was firm and sincere, "you are family. I won't let you think otherwise."

•

Later that night, when Teddy was safely tucked in his crib, Andromeda would wonder at how big her 'family' had gotten all of a sudden, when it sometimes felt that she had no one at all.

**0o0o0**

**Author's Note: **I _deeply _apologize for the lack of update in, like, _a year_. Or perhaps more than that, even. Real life troubles + writer's block aren't very good combinations, and I was almost buried in my work. Good thing that I managed to reach the surface again, and bring my fics with me. I hope you guys would forgive me, and still read this story despite the long wait!**  
**

Okay, I _do _feel that the last part of this chapter seems somewhat hasty, but I wanted this chapter out of the way. It isn't that exciting, though I admit that it's terribly important. It's an introduction of some of the people that would make an impact in Andromeda's life throughout this story (I've dropped many hints!), a foreshadowing of what's to come and what Andromeda plans to do in the future, and a look at what Kingsley and Andromeda's friendship really seems like, when they're together on their own. I've dropped many knew characters, some of whom are OCs and others are very, very, _very_ minor characters in the Harry Potter world.

Anyway, feedback's much appreciated, folks!


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